The Baker's Son: A Hunger Games Story
by nikerek
Summary: Part One of The Hunger Games Trilogy from the view point of Peeta Mellark. "The shame I felt for not doing more that day crept back as I did nothing but watch her give herself to the "Games". I look to her knowing that I have my chance to make it up to her."
1. Chapter 1

I can't sleep. I watch the sunlight creep across the ceiling. Two of us will be sent out to die before the sun sets.

I decide I can't lie in bed any longer, so I change and head downstairs to the bakery. My mother's pulling several cakes from the oven while my father kneads dough. They greet me with wary smiles. I try to return them, but this day suppresses any joy I could possibly have.

Today is reaping day, and whatever happiness the people in District 12 feel, it's drowned in panic and fear as they will soon ready their children for the slaughter raffle. I try to relax, knowing that the odds may be in my favor. I've never had to take tesserae in exchange for additional entries, but it only makes me feel guilty.

I see the already cooled cakes on pedestals and begin making a colorful assortment of icings. Treating them like canvases, I lose myself in painting the cakes. I decorate the last cake like a bed of dandelions. This may be the last cake I ever frost. This one is my favorite.

My parents begin to close the shop for the reaping as I place the dandelion cake in the window. I have enough time to bathe and put on nicer attire as my family already has their reaping clothes on.

My brother opens our bedroom door and looks in as I finish buttoning my dress shirt. "You ready? It's time." I nod and follow him into our living room where I slip on my dress shoes and leave our home and the bakery to meet the rest of town in the square.

I sign in and look around at the other children filing into their respective areas. We're separated by gender and age. I catch sight of Katniss Everdeen with her sister, Prim, who's only 12. My chests constricts in pain for them. My family buys goat milk from Prim, and I always catch her staring at my cakes. If we make it out of here today, I might sneak her the dandelion cake.

I watch Katniss join the other girls of her age. I stare at her for a long time, wishing I could tell her that Prim will be okay, then I see her look to the boys in front as she exchanges glances with Gale. He's more attractive than I am and the girls at school talk about him frequently, but I only feel jealous of him when I remember he's close with Katniss. They hunt together and help take care of each other's families. I've heard people talk about them in the bakery; saying things like "They'll end up married with wild children." There's that pain I'm my chest again.

I remember her in her two braids, singing the valley song. I long to hear her sing now, but since her father died, I wonder if she stopped singing. I wonder if Gale has heard her sing.

I hear the mayor begin to speak and I turn my attention towards the stage. He speaks of Panem's history as he does every year, the country that "rose from the ashes of North America." We're reminded of the rebellion and the Capitol's victory as they destroyed District 13, while dominating the other 12. My attention falters as I glance at Katniss. Right now, seeing her is the only thing that keeps my heart from exiting my chest.

Haymitch Abernathy drunkenly takes the stage and attempts to hug an obviously disgusted and embarrassed Effie Trinket, knocking her wig off kilter. The mayor looks horrified as we applaud our only victor.

Effie Trinket takes the podium and my stomach turns. I wonder how she can be so cheerful as she chooses the names of the children that will die every year. Her bright pink wig and green dress reminds me of a flower… An unnatural looking flower that you'd assume is poisonous and attempt to avoid.

"Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!" she practically yells with excitement in her high-pitched Capitol accent. "Ladies first!" She reaches the glass ball with the girls' names and digs through the unfortunate victims of this annual torture. She pulls her hand out, grinning all the way back to the podium to read the name of the girl whose life will be changed forever. "Primrose Everdeen."

My chest tightens again as I find Katniss, wide eyed and motionless in a mob of sympathetic faces. Katniss waivers as a boy from the Seam steadies her. I watch Prim walk toward the stage where Effie is waving her forward. Prim looks so young with her blouse coming out from the back of her skirt. She's only a child. Everyone is reminded just how awful a situation this is.

"Prim!" Katniss' voice cracks and our entire district is focused on the horror in her eyes. Katniss Everdeen, the oldest daughter of a deceased coal miner who everyone knew and loved. They love her, too. "Prim!" It's painful to watch her run to her sister, so pale and fragile. She pushes Prim behind her and yells "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" Gale leaves his spot to carry a crying Prim to their mother. She thrashes in his arms.

Watching Katniss mount the stage and speak her name into the microphone makes me feel as if I should do something; take a stand and defend her. But what can I do? A soft spoken baker's son. Would she even know who I am? I feel ashamed as I keep my eyes on the stage and my mouth shut, but if anyone from District 12 could survive the Games, Katniss could.

Effie Trinket asks us to applaud. No one moves. Our entire district remains silent for Katniss. Then one by one, we press the three middle fingers of our left hands to our lips and hold out our arms to her. It's an old gesture, rarely used; it means "thank you, "admiration," and "goodbye," to a loved one.

Haymitch breaks our silence by putting his arm around Katniss and slurring out the words "I like her! Lots of… Spunk!" Then he staggers to the end of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts with a finger pointing at the camera. Making a further fool of himself, I watch him plummet head first off of the stage. He's carried away on a stretcher, and the entirety of Panem must be really enjoying the show.

After minimal debate about the rules of volunteers, Effie continues the reaping. She attempts to straighten her wig, "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"She walks to the glass ball full of boy's names. She moves quickly back to the podium and without hesitation speaks the next name. "Peeta Mellark."

I feel my heart skip into a race with panic. I steadily make my way on stage, overcome with fear and unable to suppress the emotions obvious on my face. I refuse to let my body falter, as much as I feel I could collapse. I half expect Gale to come forward, but when Effie Trinket asks for volunteers, he doesn't. No one does.

We listen to the mayor read the Treaty of Treason, but all I can think of is Katniss. A few months after the mine explosion that took her father, I tried to help her.

It was a cold and wet day that chilled to the bone. I was helping my mother bake bread loaves to sell when she heard rustling outside. She opened the back door and began screaming at a beggar. I looked passed her to see Katniss in her father's soaked jacket. That was the only time I've ever seen her look broken.

I reached into the oven to grab the two loaves that were done cooking. I let the pan they cooked in fall into the hot coals, charring parts of the giant loaves just enough so that they were unfit for sale. I quickly retrieved them and put them on the counter as they burned my hands.

I was expecting it, but I didn't see it coming so soon. The large wooden spoon my mother often uses to mix cake batter with landed sharply on my cheek bone. She yelled at me to feed the burned bread to our pig since no one decent would buy it. I stood outside of the back door, holding both loaves and breaking off only the inedible, hard bits. I heard the bell on our front door chime and watched my mother exit the kitchen. I checked a few times to make sure she wasn't coming back, then tossed the rest of the loaves in the direction of the girl hiding behind the pig's pen, where our beautiful apple tree grew.

Afraid of being caught, I ran back inside and shut the door, but looked out the window in time to watch her disappear in the rain with the loaves of bread. I wanted so badly to bring her fresh, warm bread, but as I felt my eye begin to swell, I knew I wouldn't have gotten away with it.

I couldn't sleep that night. I toyed with frosting concoctions while my family slept. My father crept down into the kitchen; he must have heard me. "She's asleep," he said softly. "I heard you burned bread today."

I nodded, "For Katniss," I whispered. My father nodded in understanding. I remember when he told me he loved Katniss' mother. I feel for Katniss what he felt for her mother. I've never even spoken to her, but I watch her every day. In the halls at school. When she's meeting Prim to go home. My father helped me clean up the frosting and I went to bed.

Katniss met my eyes after school the next day and all I could do was wish I'd done more for her.

The shame I felt for not doing more that day crept back as I did nothing but watch her give herself to the "Games". I look to her knowing that I have my chance to make it up to her.

The mayor regains my attention as he gestures for Katniss and I to shake hands. I look her in the eye and squeeze her hand. I try to accept my death as I silently vow to protect her in the arena.

The anthem of Panem plays to finish off the reaping. It sounds more like a death march. It's fitting. I look one last time into the sea of relieved faces that have one more year before they have to worry again. I take them in, knowing that this will be my last look at District 12.


	2. Chapter 2

We're herded by peacekeepers into the justice building and locked in separate rooms. I watch Katniss and her stoic bravado before she disappears behind closed doors. I wish I had half of her strength.

I sit on the edge of a velvet couch, feeling like a prisoner. I caress the soft material of the furniture; it feels comforting against my skin. It's probably the reason both pillows are also encased in velvet; a tactic to sooth a new tribute. I see through it, but I keep rubbing my hands against the velvet.

The door opens and I stand. My eldest brother enters. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me. We were never really close, so I'm not surprised when he leaves without a word spoken between us.

My other brother comes in sheepishly. I can read the guilt on his face. "I'm sorry, Peeta," he confesses. I don't blame him for not volunteering; I wouldn't choose to have someone take my place. "I don't want anyone risking their life for me. Take care of mom and dad." We hug briefly and with tears in his eyes, he exits the room.

My mother comes in next. She's mostly calm with only a hint of tears in her eyes. We sit on the couch and she silently holds my hands in hers. I feel more sullen now as I think of how I'd rather be getting yelled at by her than go into the games. I see her look at me out of the corner of her eye with a half smile "Maybe District 12 will finally have a victor this year." I smile and focus my eyes on her, but she's looking at the door. "She's a survivor, that one. She is."

I become rigid. She's never been affectionate with me, but I would never have thought she could be so cold. A peacekeeper opens the door before another word can be said and I watch my father walk in. I stand up to hug my mother, but I feel no sadness over parting with her.

I look at my father and realize that he's been the only person in my family I've ever cared for. Maybe it's because we're truly so much alike. My mother walks out, glancing at my father. The door closes behind her.

"I'd give my life for you if they'd let me," he takes me in his arms as we both begin to cry. "I know you, Peeta. Please promise that if she can't be saved, you'll try to come home." I squeeze my father. "I'll die before I watch her die." I take a few moments and allow myself to feel like a child in his arms. The door swings open, "Time's up," says the peacekeeper standing in the entrance. I look at my father, "Take care of them." My father nods and we both know I'm not talking about our family. The door is shut behind my father, and I'm left standing in the middle of the room crying.

The peacekeepers come back for me when I'm sure my family is gone and I'm once again standing with Katniss. She doesn't even look like she's shed a tear. I don't care who sees me crying at this point as we ride with Effie Trinket to the train that will take us to the Capitol. This is an event worthy of hysteria.

The train station is filled with reporters and their cameras. There's a television showing live footage of our arrival to the train. Katniss looks so strong and brave; I'm the one sobbing for all of Panem. I guess I do care afterall. I wipe my eyes as we stand in the train's doorway so the reporters can get pictures of us.

After a few minutes, Effie takes us inside. The train is spectacular. She gives us a small tour, stating that everything is at our disposal. I can only imagine how it feels to live like this without the pressure of imminent death days away.

I have an hour before supper, so I take to my room. There's a bedroom with a dressing area and a private bathroom. We have hot water at my house above the bakery, but my mother likes to reserve it. I decide to take advantage of continuous hot water and shower. I scrub the day's events from my body with the expensive soap provided. I take a deep, soothing sigh and place my hands against the shower wall, letting the water hit my scalp and run down my body. I could stay right here forever, alone in this warmth. I feel safe in the water. Then I shudder. A cold chill that reminds me where I am and why I'm here seizes my body from the heat of the shower.

I turn the water off and dry myself, then look through the drawers and the closet to see what else is at my disposal. I pull on simple black pants and look for a shirt. I find a deep orange shirt. I smile, pulling it from the drawer and slide it on over my head. The material is soft and feels as comforting against my skin as the velvet couch. I swipe a comb through my hair and head to the dining room.

Haymitch is the only one sitting at the table, and he looks as though he's about to be sick all over it. I'm annoyed by his drunkeness. I sit across from him, looking in his glazed eyes, "Maybe you should go rest for a while."

He mumbles something and begins to tip over. I rush over to him and help lift him off of his chair, but he pushes me away and makes his way down the hall mumbling about how he doesn't sleep well on trains.

I sit back down, and stare at all of the fragile looking dishes; I'm terrified to touch them. Effie Trinket walks in, with Katniss trailing. The dark green color of the shirt Katniss is wearing looks stunning against her features, and the mockingjay on her pin looks as though it's taken flight in trees.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks me in her bright Capitol accent.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I tell them. I'm sure they've seen enough of him to know, so I don't give them the whole story.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day." She also seems relieved that Haymitch won't be joining us.


	3. Chapter 3

The Avoxes enter, bringing our meal in numerous  
courses. I catch Effie observing us, whenever I can turn my attention away from  
the most delicious food I've ever eaten. I know most in District 12 think the  
shop owners live so luxuriously, but my father kept us humble. I actually enjoy  
the taste of squirrel.

"At least you two have decent manners," I hear Effie chime. "The pair last year  
ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset  
my digestion."

I try to forgive her since she's lived a whole other life, but I grin as  
Katniss starts eating with her hands. She wipes her hands on the tablecloth and  
Effie's eyes grow narrow with distaste as she stops eating entirely. There's so  
much fire in Katniss; she probably won't even need help in the arena. I go back  
to eating myself sick, knowing that my meals are numbered.

I swallow my last bite of food and lean back in my chair. My stomach feels so  
swollen. I glance over at Katniss who looks like she's barely holding on to  
everything she ate. It's upsetting to see how thin she is. She looks as though  
this is the first decent meal in her entire life. It makes me wish that I'd  
given her more bread. She's so proud though, would she even have taken it? She  
took the bread once, but I don't think that she even remembers.

Sometimes, she'll look at me in a way that makes me think she does remember,  
but I know I'm just being hopeful that maybe she thinks of me too. It's dumb, I  
know. Especially now. But I still get that knot in my stomach when I see her,  
like I did when I saw her for the first time.

It was then that I found out my father loved her mother. I can tell he still  
loves her, the way I'll always love Katniss. It's probably why my mother's so  
miserable and resentful of me. She's not as cruel with my brothers, and she  
wasn't so willing to yell or hit me until after she found out. Then she used  
our last few minutes together to take one final swing; I would have rather it  
been physical.

I find myself following Katniss into another train compartment with a  
comfortable couch and a cushioned chair facing a television. I sit in the chair  
while Effie and Katniss sit on the couch. We spend the rest of our time  
watching the other districts' reapings. I'm sad for everyone but Districts 1  
and 2, where they pride themselves on competing in the Hunger Games. Most of  
all, I'm horrified for District 11, who's losing a 12 year old child, no bigger  
than Katniss' sister Prim, to the Capitol's sick idea of remembrance. I'm hot  
with rage; I hope it doesn't show. The last thing I need to do is start voicing  
my opinions. What good would it do anyway? They've already sent me to my death.

Our reaping is last since they're shown in numerical order. I don't want to  
watch, but I'd rather stay here with Katniss than hide in my room. I've already  
lived through it once.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised  
behavior." Effie scoffs at the television.

It pulls me from the spiraling mood I'm in and I laugh. "He was drunk. He's  
drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss says, and I smile at the smirk creeping across Katniss'  
lips.

I should've told her long ago that I loved her. The proximity of this train is  
making it harder to keep in when she's so close all the time.

Effie hisses at us, "Yes. How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor  
is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up  
your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be  
the difference between your life and your death!"

As if on cue, Haymitch stumbles in, no more sober than before he went to bed "I  
miss supper?" Then he loses whatever was in his stomach on the carpet and  
blacks out in it.

"So laugh away!" Effie shrills as she practically hops away.

I can't help but stare at Haymitch, lying in his own bile. I feel my face turn  
to a scowl. No wonder District 12 has never had a victor since him. He's not  
helping us by being a belligerent drunk, only making it easier for us to die  
for the Capitol's entertainment.

Katniss and I move at the same time toward Haymitch, lifting him off the  
ground. His eye lids flutter as we get him on his feet. "I tripped?" He  
slurs. "Smells bad." He tries to wipe his face, but only ends up smearing the  
vomit on his mouth.

"Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit." I try to tell him  
soothingly. Now isn't the time to scold him, not when he's barely conscious.

Katniss helps me practically carry him to his rooms. We can't just leave him on  
the clean bedspread, so we get him into the shower and turn the water on. He's  
blacked out again.

I don't want Katniss to have to deal with cleaning up a drunken fool. I tell  
her "It's okay. I'll take it from here." She looks relieved. I don't blame her.

She offers to get an Avox to help me. The last thing we needs is more people  
from the Capitol watching him fall apart. They know enough, they've done  
enough. "No. I don't want them," I tell her.

As soon as she leaves, I begin removing his clothes that smell of alcohol,  
sweat, and vomit. I commend myself for not throwing up myself over this. I  
scrub his face and body and even wash his hair. This is more than he deserves,  
but maybe it'll be enough of a gesture to make him realize that we're worth  
sobering up for.

I lift Haymitch's clean body out of the tub, hoping he doesn't vomit again. I  
cover him in a robe and carry him to his bed. I put the blankets over him. "I  
wish you'd remember this," I say with disgust as I leave his room.

I take a shower myself, trying to wash away the stress of the last hour. It  
doesn't help. I dry myself off and immediately take to bed. The plush comforter  
is soft and warm against my skin. I think of Katniss in the next room. The  
closest I've come to her is shaking her hand, and I realize that it was just  
enough to break me. I think of all those days after school where I just watched  
her. I could have talked to her, gotten close to her. I picture her outside of  
school, wisps of hair loose from her braid, flickering against her olive skin  
in the breeze.

I drift into a tortured sleep, haunted by images of her dying in the arena.


End file.
